


DAII: There Is No Freedom

by bioticbootyshaker



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Drama, Fog Warriors, Gen, M/M, Seheron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticbootyshaker/pseuds/bioticbootyshaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After telling Hawke about his experiences with the Fog Warriors, Fenris reflects on all the things he cannot tell Hawke about his time on Seheron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DAII: There Is No Freedom

The story Fenris had told Hawke was only half-true. Yes, the Fog Warriors had found him when he had been injured and taken him in. Yes, they had nurtured him and cared for him. Yes, when Danarius had shown up Fenris had acquiesced to his command to kill them.

He could not share the other half of the story, not even with Hawke, whose body curled against his in the night and whose lips carried on them a sweetness Fenris had never known before. 

Some things you could never speak of, not even to the most important person in your life. Some truths went too deep, they cut to the bone, and there was nothing you could do but look at the wound they had opened and wonder how it was possible to still be alive. 

A man had no right to still be living when such a wound had been carved into him, bleeding him out slowly over months and years. Time had done little to heal him.

Whenever Fenris closed his eyes, he was back in those swamps and jungles of Seheron. He could smell the deep scent of the trees and taste the humid, sickly-sweet air. The heat had been oppressive, but it had done wonders in speeding his recovery. The Fog Warriors had watched over him, perhaps because in some distant, indistinct way, they shared blood. 

Most had been elves, though some had been humans. They were unlike any he had ever seen before. Not only their nudity and lack of shame, but the way they spoke and listened and watched and taught and learned. They spoke of the Qun, taught him some of its most basic tenets; Fenris had no love for the Qunari, but even his dislike paled in comparison to the brazen hatred the Fog Warriors felt for the barbarians. 

He could have spoken of such things to Hawke. Those were not the truths he had hidden. Those truths were easy, coming from a place of facts and statistics rather than a place of emotion and pain. The truths that Fenris could not speak of, that he would never be able to speak of, could have been whispered in a single breath; just one name.

Artheron.

****  
1\. They called no man master.

 

Artheron was taller and broader than any elf had a right being. The first time Fenris laid eyes on the man he was still stuck in bed, wounded and feverish. Artheron sat down beside him and held a small bowl up to Fenris’ lips. He drank the foul-smelling liquid, coughed and sputtered, and fell into an uneasy sleep. 

The man was there when Fenris awakened days later. His fever had broken, and he felt ready to move around. Artheron held his arm as he walked through the small room, squeezing Fenris’ bicep gently when it was time to sit down and rest. 

Over the next few weeks Artheron was rarely away from Fenris’ side. He told him stories of the Fog Warriors, legends and fables and actual bits of history. Fenris could never discern his tall tales from his history lessons, and it thrilled him. Though in every fiber of his being Fenris knew that he was still a slave, still property to a magister, it was easier to pretend that he was free when Artheron told him his stories. 

When Fenris was strong enough to venture outside Artheron led him into the forests. At first they went no further than a dozen or so yards, but gradually they lengthened their excursions until Fenris had gone a mile inside the humid copse of trees. Artheron was always right behind him, or beside him with his elbow offered for Fenris to hold onto. Though he was strong enough to not need the support, Fenris always took Artheron’s arm.

The Fog Warriors were beautiful to him. _Free. Uninhibited. Untamed. Uncollared._ Fenris would sit there at nights around the fire in the center of their camp and he would watch them as they laughed and talked and sang and danced. He wanted so badly to believe that he was one of them, that he too could cut his leash and be free, but he had never been a fool.

2\. They were bold; free with their affections.

The island of Seheron was fiercely contested by the Qunari and Tevinter. Fenris had seen first-hand while serving under Danarius just how vicious the battles could be. One Qunari had been captured and tortured with blood magic in Danarius’ mansion. Fenris had heard his screams echoing up from the dungeon for nearly the entire night before Danarius had ordered him slain.

Living with the Fog Warriors, Fenris saw nothing of especial value. The jungle was muggy and hot and malodorous. Aside from the Fog Warriors themselves there was nothing of any worth or appeal on Seheron. Most likely they battled for their own fragile pride, as Seheron rested between Par Vollen and the Tevinter Imperium. They each wanted it so that the other would be denied it.

A foolish thing for people to die over, but Fenris had never been the best when it came to tactics and warfare. His skillset was not based on strategy. Danarius had seen to it that he had been turned into a weapon. A beautiful weapon, Danarius was fond of saying; but the most beautiful things could often be the deadliest. 

Artheron learned the truth of that first-hand. All of the Fog Warriors did.

“These markings are strange,” Artheron said, sliding his palm up Fenris’ arm and over his collarbone. “Lovely, but strange.” 

Fenris could have said the same of Artheron. He was dark and beautiful. Black hair, black eyes, brown skin. Fenris sometimes looked at him and felt himself melting, slowly, wanting so badly to taste him and feel him that it was an ache in his chest. 

Danarius had never dared allow Fenris to become close to anyone. He could care for nothing beyond pleasing his Master. Fenris had never felt another’s touch on his skin, or their breath against his ear. He had never felt warm, slightly damp lips against his brow, soothing him. He closed his eyes and felt Artheron move closer, his heat and his reality almost too much for Fenris; too good to be true.

That first kiss set Fenris on fire. One kiss was not enough. He kissed Artheron until his lips were bruised and raw. When he was done kissing his lips he moved lower, pressing his mouth against every inch of dark, lovely skin he could find. 

Everything was a blur after that. Teeth, tongue, and lips against his throat. Fingers intertwined, bodies tangled, backs and hips arching and rocking. Fenris had become so used to extraordinary pain when someone moved inside of him, but Artheron did it gently, with his breath on Fenris’ ear and his voice whispering sweet things Fenris couldn’t hear. He felt the words in his heart and settling down into his bones. His face was wet and his throat was burning and clogged. Artheron kissed his tears away.

Afterwards, sweaty and panting, laying on the mossy ground in Artheron’s arms, Fenris whispered, “It hurts me.”

Artheron never asked what he meant. Most likely he knew. The markings, the slavery, the memories, the countless atrocities he had been forced to commit for Danarius’ twisted and perverse pleasure. The ache of never having loved and never having _been_ loved. 

Sweat dried on their skin and Fenris let himself be held. He closed his eyes and breathed in the coppery scent of the jungle and Artheron’s flesh. When he opened his eyes there was nothing but black sky above him, dotted with a billion stars. He was free, at least for that night, with those arms around him and that body under him, he was _free_.

3\. He told me to kill them. So I did. I... killed them all.

One act of rebellion stood between Fenris and his complete freedom. That was all it would take. One scream of “no”, one defiant stand, one courageous effort.

“Kill them, my pet,” Danarius purred. “Kill them and we can go home.”

There was no home for him and there never had been. What home he had possessed before Danarius might as well have never been. He remembered no tender words or smiling faces. All he knew was Danarius, all he knew was how to please him. It was a terrible thing to realize about himself -- to know that he did not possess the strength to be free. To know that he would sooner let the blood of innocents stain the ground than to ever buck his Master’s command. 

Just a small group, that was all. Twenty of so between his old life. Perhaps that life was cruel and cold but it was the only one that he knew. 

Artheron stood against him, the last of his people. Fenris dropped his sword and moved in closer to him. The smell on the air was blood and copper. Artheron’s face was wet with sweat and tears. 

“It hurts me,” Fenris whispered to him.

“Stop this,” Artheron whispered back, “Please. Stop this. I will make it stop hurting.”

No one could ever make it stop. No one could ever give him back what had been taken from him. No one could ever free him from the chains he wore. Even when he was away from Danarius, even when he was in Kirkwall fighting alongside Hawke, living in Hightown, watching the black sky burn with those same stars, he was not free. 

“I cannot stop,” Fenris said, his fingers slicing like knives into Artheron’s chest. “And you cannot save me.”

There was no saving him. 

There was no freedom.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Title:** There Is No Freedom  
>  **Word Count:** 1626  
>  **Fandom:** Dragon Age II  
>  **Pairing:** Fenris/Artheron (OC)  
>  **Rating:** T  
>  **Warnings:** Adult situations, nudity, violence  
>  **Disclaimer:** Dragon Age II (c) Bioware  & EA
> 
> Written for secretbraintwin on tumblr :) She wanted to see Fenris with the Fog Warriors, and I was happy to oblige. Mainly because I love depressing myself I suppose... ;;


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